Oh Rac, you wrote this story for me! Thank you so very, very much!!!
The heroic efforts of her surgeons had saved her knee, which meant that eventually, she'd be able to do most everything normally. For now, she didn't walk the way she used to and was constantly thinking about how to compensate, how to shift her weight and move steadily. But she had to get used to a new way of doing things. She could lead a perfectly normal life, she'd heard over and over again, it would just be a little different from the way it was before.
This so much reminds me of a rather warm winter Sunday last January when I took advantage of the fine weather to go out for a stroll. As I was walking down the relatively peaceful downtown streets, I was suddenly passed by a young man who was out walking, too. I marvelled at how fast he was walking, and I couldn't help wondering why. He didn't look like was trying to make it in time for an appointment, because he wasn't glancing at his watch, and he didn't seem to be out of breath or flustered or anything. I marvelled at how fluidly and effortlessly he was walking - was he out practising for something? Then I started wondering why he wore a long white knee-length sock on one leg, but not on the other. And that's when I suddenly realized that the leg with the sock was in fact a prosthetic device.
So after seeing that young man walk like that, I tend to believe that, yes, a young person who has lost one leg below the knee should indeed be able to learn to do most everything normally after a while.
"I love you," she replied as she trailed her hands slowly up and down his sides. It had been so long since they'd made love and all she could think about was being with him. Except the tiniest voice in her head kept asking her if he was as eager. It kept reminding her that she wasn't whole anymore. She was twisted and broken, deformed by war. He still loved her, she knew that, but was he still attracted to her? Did he want to be with her?
This is exactly what I expected Enza to think. Thank you for writing it.
"This isn't about want," he began, his voice soft and low. She closed her eyes, feeling a sudden emptiness in her chest. She braced herself, knowing that he would say something sensitive and thoughtful about how this was difficult for both of them, but they'd find a way to get past it together and in time, get used to her injuries. Desire wasn't important anyway, she told herself. The deep and solid foundation of their relationship comprised far more crucial things.
This is so painful. Enza now believes that Lok Sim doesn't really desire her physically, and that he wants to be with her mostly because he regards conjugal lovemaking as a sort of conjugal duty, meant to celebrate the spiritual bond between the spouses. And the spiritual bond between Enza and Lok Sim is certainly there, but... how cold it would be to live in a marriage without physical attraction between the two parties.
But that was not what Lok Sim meant at all:
"Enza, I need you," he said breathlessly. "I need to be with you, to lose myself in you, to forget where I end and you begin. But I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you. I will wait as long as you need me to, but please don't ever doubt how much I love you and need you, and how badly I want you."
His words threw her off balance. "I need you," she whispered. "So much."
Gently, he caressed her cheek. "I want to make love with you," he said.
He does want her! She may be broken and physically imperfect, but he so much wants her. More than that: he needs her.
He slid down to the end of the bed and continued to slowly undress her. With gentle hands, he removed the prosthetic as though it wasn't something ugly and unnatural, like it was just another piece of clothing, a simple, superficial barrier between them to be casually set aside. She watched him silently as he placed his hand on her leg. He lowered his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, just above her knee, above the scar tissue and grafted skin.
This is so wonderful. This is just what I wanted to see. He takes off her prosthetic as if it was just another piece of clothing, and he kisses her mutilated leg.
Her husband looked up at her, desire etched in his expression, but there was so much tenderness in his eyes. "You are so perfect, so beautiful," he whispered. The words brought stinging tears to her eyes. His fingers moved ever so softly over her skin. "The scars don't change that, they prove it. You saved Thia. You saved all of those children. What you endured was horrible and if I could have gone through it instead, I would have. But what you did was remarkable and I love you even more for it."
And this is so beautiful that it almost brings tears to my eyes, too. "You are so perfect, so beautiful." What a wonderful, wonderful thing to say, especially since he menas it, too. Because to him, her stump is a permanent reminder of his wife's "inner beauty", her courage and selflessness and love.
She reached her hands out to him and drew him up toward her. "My love," she whispered. Despite everything that had happened to her, she knew just how fortunate she was. Her husband had saved her life and he'd held her hand through all of the painful therapy, the slow, agonizing recoveries from surgery, and the frustration of having to relearn how to do so many simple, everyday things. And he loved her so purely and so perfectly that he made her forget why she should be nervous and self conscious. He made her feel like she wasn't broken and damaged. Because to him, she wasn't.
This is all so beautiful, especially the last part:
He made her feel like she wasn't broken and damaged. Because to him, she wasn't.
Again, you bring tears to my eyes.
He opened his warm, green eyes to look at her. Even in the darkness, she could see so much love reflected there. The slight, almost dreamy smile on his face softened his features. Gazing at her husband, she realized that no matter what had happened, no matter what she'd lost or how imperfect she was, she could do one thing perfectly. She could love him.
This, too, is utterly beautiful.
Lok Sim fell back against the pillows, Enza still in his arms. He closed his eyes and smiled as he kissed the crown of her hair. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you," she murmured drowsily. He could feel the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile against his skin. Her small hand stroked his chest, her fingers moving in distracting circles. He hugged her just a little more tightly. Physically, he was tall and strong and imposing. He was respected, too, now one of General Commander Talan's most trusted officers. But power had never meant a thing to him. He'd never sought it out, never wanted it. He had no interest in it. Yet knowing that he could make Enza happy, that he could make her whisper his name his name so breathlessly, was about the greatest source of satisfaction he could imagine.
And this is so wonderful, too.
Your portrait of Lok Sim and Enza's love is so beautiful and heartwarming, Rac. Tank you so much for writing this, and thank you so much for dedicating it to me!
Ann
